


The careful craft that is love, the beauty of choosing it over and over

by TuskFM



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Clothing, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Future Fic, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, it's about chosing to build something with them!, it's about having a routine and willingly sharing your life with someone!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:00:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27804988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuskFM/pseuds/TuskFM
Summary: “You want me?” He doesn’t finish his question, doesn’t need to. She steps up to him, wordlessly turns her back to him and gathers her braids over her shoulder.His large hands are gentle when he takes the zipper of her dress and slowly tug it upward. She feels a soft kiss, the press of his lips and the stubbles brushing her skin just at the top of her spine, over the last joint of her neck, before he closes the zipper. He doesn’t move away once he’s done, instead he settles his hands over her hips and leans behind her. She feels the warmth and comforting presence she’s grown so familiar with.“I used to help Marie dress in the morning.”“Yeah?” She asks, and he nods."It was the husband's duty to do his share of work. He was there in the morning too." He pauses, nuzzles his nose at the nook of her neck. “I used to tighten her corset when we were in a hurry. She’d put on her skirts and I would tie them in the back.”Booker loves with his hands, and Nile loves that he does.~Nile and Booker share a sweet moment as he helps her with her dress.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Comments: 14
Kudos: 109





	The careful craft that is love, the beauty of choosing it over and over

**Author's Note:**

> What is sexier than men undressing their partner? Men helping them dress. This entire fic was inspired [this gifset](https://holdmecloseandfast.tumblr.com/post/632912543348899840/anna-karenina-alexei-vronsky-in-anna-karenina).

“Do you need help?” Booker always asks her, offers her. It started small, offering his help for the mundane, to clean something or bring her that thing or hold that for her. At first, she thought he saw her as incompetent, somehow needing supervision. She was a hundred and thirty-two when she first got fed up with it and told him to stop seeing her as a child needing to have her hand held all the time.

It’s Joe who told her. Who explained that he’s not good with words, that he loves with his hands. It still took her another year to really get it, that he doesn’t clean her mug because he thinks she’s helpless but because he can spare her the bother of doing it so he does. That if he’s the one to crawl through the mud it isn’t because she’s incompetent in his eyes but because if he can keep her from taking a life, then he will do it himself.

They talked. She told him how it makes her feels, he told her that wasn’t his intention. She said that if he asks first, she’ll be more ready to accept the help. Said she still needed to learn how to lean on her family, even after a century. Habits die hard she said with a hollow laugh, and he agreed with a nod. He promised to always ask, to always follow her wishes. He never broke his words after that day, and it was easier for her to see his heart through his gesture.

It flowed so easily from there, she’s surprised she didn’t realize it sooner, what was growing between them. How they planted the seed together, their hands brushing as they pushed the soil over the small chip of life. They slowly nurtured it, watched it grow, snipped off the bad leaves, pushed it straight up after the storms and fed it water each dry day. It’s a wonder, how they didn’t realize it grew so big until they were both sheltered under its branches. Nile woke up from a death, looked up from her bloody hands to find Booker sitting up on the other side of the collapsed building, searching for her with his eyes, and she realized that she loved him. Loved him enough to see herself in him, to want to carve a space for him within her. That she’d be happy if she could continue down the path of her life with him by her side.

When Quynh found them later that night, her whispered _finally_ did as much to warm her heart as the way Booker grasped her hands did earlier. It’s a true marvel, finding a family and fitting in perfectly with all the other pieces.

***

The music fills the room with warm beats and waves of synth. It’s old tech by now, a radio post Seb found for her years ago, and a salvaged USB stick from her youth. She used to mock her parents for sticking with vinyl for so long, but now she gets it. Pushing the play button with her finger feels so much more real than touching the airScreen player does.

It’s a calm night, a slow one. They haven’t had one in ages, too busy with the family and the usual business. They have safe houses throughout the world for themselves now, like Joe and Nicky have, like Quynh has. It looks nothing like theirs, few to no blades laying around, limited number of boxes filled with their past, an easier acceptance of the new future, despite how hard it is to not fight it but to go with the flow of humanity. It’s theirs, small bubbles they carved for themselves in the world, places out of the reach of time where they can shelter themselves, be their true selves. Have fun and play dress up even, like tonight.

Because first night off means night out, always has, always will for them. Out to a bar, out to a club, out to a museum or a park, it doesn’t matter, as long as it’s out. Nile chose this time, didn’t let Seb have the time to say a word when she announced “dancing. I don’t care what or where as long as we dance.” She’s been thinking of dancing for an entire week and nothing would keep her away from a dance hall. Seb laughed and showed her the address of the club near them that he already looked up. Said he filled their chip with coins already, they only need to get going. It still feels unreal, knowing someone for decades and being known so intimately by someone else. He said he saw the way her feet couldn’t keep still in the plane, that he suggested Kyoto and its still persistent hip hop scene for this exact reason.

If she’d have to mention only one thing her life as an immortal taught her, it would be: be quick and efficient in anything and everything. The second thing she’d mention would be enjoying anything when possible. She’s been getting ready for the past hour, choosing her dress, the accessories, showering and styling her hair and putting her make up on; the tight and bright blue line of eyeliner, the lipstick she saved from the late twenty-first century but that is still good. She forgoes the foundation, thank her perfect health as an immortal for flawless skin she has all the time now.

She walks out of the bathroom still pulling the dress over her shoulders, looking for her shoes down the hallway where she swears she left them last night.

“You want me?” Seb asks from the chair he’s sitting on, tucking away the phone he must have been playing on for the last fifteen minutes since he said he was ready. She’d apologize if she was sorry, but it feels too good to finally take the time to properly pamper herself for once. He doesn’t finish his question, doesn’t need to. She steps up to him, wordlessly turns her back to him and gathers her braids over her shoulder.

His large hands are gentle when he takes the zipper of her dress and slowly tug it upward. She feels a soft kiss, the press of his lips and the stubbles brushing her skin just at the top of her spine, over the last joint of her neck, before he closes the zipper. He doesn’t move away once he’s done, instead he settles his hands over her hips and leans behind her. She feels the warmth and comforting presence she’s grown so familiar with.

“I used to help Marie dress in the morning.” He says, voice so soft she almost doesn’t hear him over the music. She knows he’s done his grieving. Or, well. One never really stops grieving, she should know. They are all privy to the pain of grief in the family but her and Sébastien more vividly. But he’s healed, he’s forgiven, himself and the world. He moved on a long time ago, he’s no longer stuck in the past, in the pain. He took her hand and helped her walk too, when he came back. He was there when her brother died, a strong shoulder for her to lean on.

“Yeah?” She leans back and slides a hand over the crown of his head, gently let her nails scrape at his scalp. He nods, she feels it from behind. He presses his forehead to the top of her back.

“You know how in all those books, or movies of period drama where the women are struggling to get dressed, having a hard time?” He waits for her to hum in agreement. “It was the husband’s duty to do his share in the household, to help bring food and care for the family. The husband was there in the morning too.” He pauses, nuzzles his nose at the nook of her neck. “I used to tighten her corset when we were in a hurry. She’d put on her skirts and I would tie them in the back.” As he speaks his hands wander over her hips, her waist, the small of her back. If she closes her eyes Nile can imagine his hands tightening a corset over her own body, pinning and securing skirts and dress around her waist. She never thought she’d find the idea of wearing a corset attractive, but here she is, imagining the scene in her head, how it would feel, having his undivided attention on her, helping her get ready for a day of work. She feels goosebumps rising all over her arms, and it’s not because of the cold.

“I love it, when you let me help.” He whispers against her skin and she cannot take it anymore. She turns around in his hands and slides her arms over his shoulders, gazes into his eyes, nose inches away from each other. “I love it when you go first.” He adds with a smile, that small twist of his lips almost hidden under his beard. “I hate to see you hurt but I love the confidence in your shoulders when you take the lead. I love how gentle your hands always are when dealing with the wounded and the young. How gentle they are when you feel mine.” They’re so close, she can feel his breath on her cheeks. His thumb rubs circles over her hipbone, she feels it through the thin fabric. “And I love how you always take the water bottle from my hand when we’re done.

“I love how you go to me to do the zipper of your dress, the top button of your blouse. And I love that you know you can always come to me to undo it and take it off you.” She knows he’s not speaking about clothing anymore. Not only, at least, and she feels her heart swell in her chest, beating strong and quick within her ribs, so steady and sure it feels intoxicating. His eyes are so honest, so open, a far cry from where they were the first time she saw them.

It’s harder to grasp the ways in which she has changed herself than in others, but she knows her steps are more steady, her gaze more confident. She stopped faking it a while ago, it feels natural to drape herself with the cloak of a leader, to shrug it off once it’s not needed anymore and she can simply be who she is, who she became and who she’ll change into in the future. She doesn’t hide behind a mask and pretend, she’s flayed and laid bare to the people who love her the most in the world, and it feels good to be known, to be loved and accepted without any restrain, any footnote at the bottom of the page of this love. A love that’s absolute, total, free of conditions. They all love her, her crass humor, lousy singing and big heart together. They love her because of it, just like she loves them all with and because of their good and bad habits.

“I prefer what comes after we take the dress off.” She smirks, full of innuendo because she still needs time with bare feelings and he chuckles, soft and low. She let a hand caress his cheek, the tidy beard he keeps on nowadays. “I love that you let me come to you.” She says, and it opens the gate of her heart. “That you let me come to you in my own terms. I-” she stops and closes her eyes, leans her forehead against his. Their noses are squished together and she loves how it feels. “I know you’re there for me. I don’t need to look to know you’ll be there if I ever fall. I can run first because I know you’re behind me, no matter what.” His hands tighten over her hips. “I feel safe with you, always, wherever we are.” She opens her eyes to see his face, eyes wide open and a small smile tugging at his lips. “You make me feel safe.”

“As you do. One look from you and I know I’m okay, that I’m home.” As if on time, the music fades in the background, the end of her playlist and she can see a glint in his eyes.

“What’s on your mind.” She asks, sliding her arms until she can hold his neck with her hands.

“You remember how we used to sit with Joe and Nicky and make gagging noise at their love declarations?” She nods and he continues. “We’re just as bad as them.”

“Yeah.” She chuckles. “It can’t be a bad thing though.”

“It’s the most wonderful thing.” He kisses her, soft, slow, gentle. He pushes back with a thumb resting over her jaw. “Don’t let them know I said it though, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“You ruined that reputation the day you spent trying to cook me a deep-dish pizza when I said I missed home.” He tries to look ashamed but the pink in his cheeks and the way he puffs up his chest says it all. “It was sweet of you.”

“You deserve sweet things Nile.”

“Mhh.” She grins and pulls his head lower so that he can kiss him comfortably. She doesn’t mean to, but one kiss turns into two and three and a bit of making out, standing right there in the middle of their living room. “It’s a good thing I’ve got you then.” She manages to say between two breathes when they finally part. “The sweetest man out there. My sweet sweet man.” She says, drag her fingers to his collarbones and rest them against his chest. “Mine.” And she sees the way his eyes go hungry and shiny. Their lips crash together, and she’s not sure which of them is pushing the hardest. His hands make their way to the small of her back and she loves how he presses closer to her, too much, almost painful if she weren’t welcoming it herself. She fists her hand to his shirt and pushes him closer. She can’t help it when she smiles into the kiss, and they break off with a laugh.

“I’ll take the dress off of you tonight.” He says, swear against her lips, their cheeks smashed together. His breath his hot and humid against her skin. “I’ll help with the zipper.”

“As long as I can take your shirt off myself.” She adds a bite to his jaw for good measure and his hands tighten.

“You can take off anything you want.” He rushes out, grinning, hands sliding up and down her back. “Everything.”

“Hope the zipper won’t be the only thing you’ll help with.” She doesn’t even have to try for her voice to slide a few tones lower, all smooth and suave.

“Just wait ‘til we get home.” She loves it, when they do that. When they tease and promise each other lustful and naughty words, when they have to go out and do things, when they can only brush hands and shoot each other sly glances through a crowd.

“We should get going then.” She takes a step back but keep her hands on his chest, warm and heavy flesh, she feels it rise with his breathing. “If we want to get there before the fun begins.”

“Honey, we’ll bring the fun there. Hell, we _are_ the fun.” Seb takes her hands in his and bring them to his face to kiss them, twice, once over each. It’s small gestures like that that still manages to awake butterflies in her belly, make her heart beat faster even after all this time.

“Come on, I only need to find my shoes and we can go.” She steals one last kiss before pushing away.

“They are in the kitchen.” He says as he fetches his jacket over the back of the chair, subtly push his hair back into place.

“What?”

“We left them there last night.”

“Oh. I was sure I took them off at the door.” She does remember pushing them off her foot after slamming the door shut. At least, she thinks she remembers.

“No, I was the one to do that.” He grins, wolfish and full of pride. She loves it. She loves _him_. “They are in the kitchen, under the table.”

“Thanks babe!” And she’s off to get them. She can’t wait to get to the club and hear music close enough to what she would hear in the twenty-first century. She can’t wait to dance until her legs feel like they’re made of glass, fragile and shattered, until she loses her breath and sees stars in the neon of the club. Dancing with Sébastien by her side, the man she’s building a life with, the one she loves so much some morning it feels overwhelming. The one who loves her so much it feels like nothing else matters when he’s kissing her, holding her close, whispering praises into the nook of her shoulder, the small of her back, the palm of her hands.

She can’t wait to walk back home, arms linked with his, singing and laughing, feeling light-headed and happy, so so happy her heart could burst. She can’t wait to feel his hands pulling down her zipper and covering the naked skin with his lips, slow and almost methodical if it weren’t the feverish want he always kisses her with.

Yes, she has a lovely night ahead, and she plans to savor every moment of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr [@salzundhonig](https://salzundhonig.tumblr.com/), come visit and say hi.


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